


Intoxication

by motherconfessor



Category: The Flight Attendant (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, Vaginal Fingering, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27776059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherconfessor/pseuds/motherconfessor
Summary: If Sabrina was being honest, it felt like a game. One she played knowing how it was going to end. She danced and drank and flirted, leaning over the bar to flutter eyelashes at the mixologist, hoping that Miranda waswatchingher.
Relationships: Miranda Croft/Sabrina Oznowich
Comments: 19
Kudos: 55





	Intoxication

**Author's Note:**

> As of watching episode 3, I think the whole thing was a set-up and once Cassie had attended the Unisphere Associates asking for her, Miranda set-up a back-up plan, because why else would Sabrina lie to Annie later-on that she had no idea who Miranda was, but be so open with Cassie about her earlier?
> 
> Could be wrong, and if so, I'll change this canon-divergence, but this is my theory, and I'm sticking with it for now.
> 
> 03/12/2020 edit. LMAO for a hot-second it looked like a manifested, but nope, this is canon divergence now. I liked my version better.

Sabrina was sweating in the humidity of the club, dizzy with vodka-cranberries, and currently gripping the very top of the bathroom stall as Miranda drove knuckle-deep into her, fucking her hard enough that she knew she was going to ache tomorrow.

Thank fuck for the vodka.

“Miranda, _please_ ,” she whimpered, head banging against the side of the stall. The bathroom door opened, someone else entering as the room flooded with the base of some early-2000 pop-song. “Miranda––“

“Shut-it,” she snapped, continuing to fuck her, “You’ll come when I say you can.”

Sabrina whined. She hadn’t even known the woman was here tonight until she’d followed her into the bathroom. Then Sabrina had been shoved in a stall before she had enough time to understand what was happening, knickers halfway down her legs as Miranda’s mouth pressed hot against her ear, telling her how much she was going to enjoy fucking her.

But that’s how it always was between them. She’d go out, she’d dance, and inevitably she ended up here, pressed against her. It didn’t matter if she started the night with friends, or if she went alone. Miranda would have her against the stall, in a booth, against the brick wall of an alleyway––wherever was convenient, on her terms only.

If Sabrina was honest, it felt like a game. One she played knowing how it was going to end. She danced and drank and flirted, leaning over the bar to flutter eyelashes at the mixologist, hoping that Miranda was _watching_ her.

And then Miranda would have her, and there was nothing Sabrina could do but gasp and moan, allowing the woman to fuck her until she was crying out her name.

But this time she was coming off talking to that Alessandra woman, and the fucking felt _personal_.

Miranda grabbed at her hair (previously sprayed and pinned nicely) and tugged hard. It was enough that Sabrina felt tears prick at her eyes as the woman bit at her shoulder.

Despite the pain––or because of it, she hardly knew any more—she felt herself squeeze around Miranda’s fingers, back arching as she gasped through the hot air of the club, blinking up at the black lights.

A toilet flushed nearby, and she was reminded _where_ she was. How open and public it was.

Sabrina could barely remember how all of this began. Miranda would turn up at the front desk, eyes fluttering as she requested to see Alex Sokolov, and Sabrina would call-up, finding the woman endearing. Even cute as she smiled at her sweetly, head tilting in a flirt.

But she wasn’t so cute now.

“Fuck, I can’t––“

“Not _yet_ ,” Miranda warned, tugging her hair again until Sabrina was looking into her wild eyes. “There’s a good girl. You like it like this, don’t you? Being treated like the slut you are.”

Sabrina nodded, whimpering. She could feel the stickiness of her own make-up running down her face, the smudged lipstick and eyeliner, sweat dripping the back of her legs. It _was_ slutty, and yet she didn’t care. She knew she’d be home by three, cleaning herself off and climbing into bed, ready to be at work by eight.

And then she would stand at the front desk, wondering if she’d see Miranda swagger in, pretending she was nothing more than the receptionist at the front desk.

“What did you tell her?” Miranda asked.

“Who?”

“ _Cassie_ , the flight attendant?” her fingers lowered, and Sabrina whimpered, trying to focus on the words, knowing she needed to answer before Miranda got angry.

“Alessandra? I told her that you… _oh my god_ …that you were his-his girlfriend,” she said, back arching as the pace increased, and then she felt Miranda’s thumb draw over her clit and her whole body hummed at the touch, walls clenching as she drew closer and closer to her target. “You said to, god, to make up a story, right? Feed her some bullshit.”

“ _Good girl_ ,” she cooed, low and obnoxious, and then Miranda’s mouth was on hers, and Sabrina was moaning against it, feeling her hips rock against the fingers and thumb. The build was fast, Miranda’s full attention on driving her to endpoint until she was crying out.

And god, she cried out hard against her.

She hated it, hated how easily the woman manipulated her.

_If that blonde twat in a dress makes a reappearance. Feed her a story_

So she did, and here was her reward. Fucked in a bathroom stall.

Miranda’s fingers pulled from and then she wiped them over Sabrina’s leg, her grin sharp and feral as she pulled back to look her over. And then her hand cupped underneath Sabrina’s jaw, and she tugged her down to eye-level again, kissing her with dizzying sweetness as if there was something more between them.

And that was the part Sabrina hated the most, how easily she could go from rough to soft, like it was all a game of pretending. Some twisted sexual role-play as if Sabrina was naive to what Miranda’s role in the company really was.

“Always a pleasure,” Miranda said, before going to grab at the door’s lock.

“You’re leaving?”

“You’ve friends are here,” she reminded. “Unless you’re going to ditch ‘em and take me back to that shitty apartment of yours?”

Sabrina swallowed, and a sudden ache filled her chest. “Would you even come?”

“Depends. Got tea?”

“I do.”

“What type?”

“God, I don’t know. Black tea?”

Miranda shrugged, watching her as she pulled up underwear, and then smoothed her dress down. “Fine,” Miranda agreed, opening the stall. “Wouldn’t mind a cuppa anyway. Then I can bend you over my knee and make that pretty mouth of yours call me daddy.”

Sabrina gasped, her whole body tensing as she watched the woman’s head tilted up, eyes heavy with lust, knowing that Sabrina would agree and obey. She always did.

“After you, sweetheart,” Miranda said, nodding to the door falling ajar.

Sabrina rose to her feet, standing door and exited the stall. She didn’t know if Miranda followed, but she hoped she did. She hoped to see her back in the apartment. Hoped to be bent over her knees.

It would make the stickiness in her chest alleviate for a moment as she tried not to think about how that poor blonde woman had looked at her, eager to understand what had occurred.

Sabrina didn’t know what had happened, but she knew Miranda was involved, and that was enough that it should have made her run for the hills––but she didn’t. She wouldn’t.

She couldn’t anyway.


End file.
